Colour My World
by wemmawriter
Summary: It's Emma's birthday, and it appears everyone has forgotten... even her boyfriend Carl. But there is one person who doesn't. A romantic entanglement creates angst for Emma when Will and her rekindle their friendship.
1. Chapter 1

Emma was miserable.

For what should be a happy, special day, Emma wasn't feeling anywhere near happy. Nor special.

Maybe because, for the third time today, she cleaned the glass panels of her office due to the little self-control of unruly McKinley High students constantly leaving sticky fingerprints or throwing food with no consideration.

Maybe because yet another dental convention stole her boyfriend, Carl Howell, away for a second time this week, not to mention the occasional late night dental emergencies interfering with their dinner dates.

Or maybe because today was Emma's birthday and not one person remembered. Or cared.

What was a birthday, anyhow? Emma mused in her pink rubber gloves, spraying the outside of her office with Windex, making the glass shiny and sparkly again. A day to celebrate becoming a year older – Emma couldn't see the fun there. Each year became less significant that the year before. An important birthday is turning 18, 21, or 30. Not 32.

It was just a normal school day according to Emma. And no, she wasn't going to get upset about it.

But deep down, she was.

She caught her reflection in the glass. Scattered blue, pink and yellow roses patterned her pencil skirt, its stretch sateen fabric falling just above her knees. The moss green belt matched her cap sleeved blouse with ruffled V-neck perfectly. Locks of her shoulder-length ginger hair curled under at the bottom, bangs sweeping away from her fair-skinned face, barely revealing her favourite gold bow earrings with the diamantes. Her expressive, chestnut eyes, normally warm and bright, had a soulful appearance, mimicking the ache she felt in her heart.

Emma dressed up extra special today, for nothing. Half the day was over, and no one had said a word. Not even Will Schuester, the Glee Club director and her best friend. Well, friend. Well, work acquaintance sounded more accurate. Truthfully, they hadn't been on such great terms since she began dating Carl. Emma missed their daily lunch catch-ups terribly. In fact, Emma hadn't seen Will in the teacher's lounge for a while. Preparing the New Directions for their next competition probably consumed most of his time nowadays, amongst other things. Emma wondered how the Glee Club was going. And she wondered about Will, too.

He was avoiding her. Even his usual wave by her office of a morning was non-existent. Emma wasn't going out of her way to track him down just to say hello, or make a special detour past the choir room in the off-chance he might be there like she used to. If he wanted to be stubborn and sulky about her new relationship, then fine. He's a grown man. Argh! Will made Emma so mad. And for no other reason but the angry thoughts swirling around her head, making her temper sizzle like hot oil popping in a frying pan. Why did it bother her so?

She rubbed harder on the glass, working herself into an unnecessary tizzy. Just thinking of the last couple of months between her and Carl and Will, and now combining her forgotten birthday into the mix upset Emma greater than before. She wanted to cry, but fought back the flood of tears as the last time she cried at school Sue Sylvester saw her, pointedly stating her eyelids would rust shut if she didn't stop.

Emma's toes wriggled and flexed in her navy, yellow and silver Mary Janes, restless and agitated from feeling as transparent as the glass she cleaned. Was she really that unimportant to those around her which caused her birthday to be overlooked? She glanced at her gold wristwatch, its uneven hands, along with her rumbling stomach advised her of lunchtime. In vain, Emma polished off the final glass panel, knowing that by this afternoon it would require another clean. Although Carl helped her manage her OCD, some urges such as cleaning germs and messes were going to take time to settle. Sighing, Emma tilted her head back, scrutinised her work and returned the cleaning items to the cupboard behind her desk.

With a few pumps of the hand sanitiser, Emma reflected back to only a week ago to a small surprise party at lunch for Mrs Doosenbury, the Geography teacher. A double layered sponge cake covered in piped cream awaited Eleanor with crepe paper gold and silver streamers decorating the ceiling and a large boxed gift personally presented by Principal Figgins. Every person on the teaching staff clapped and smiled, singing 'Happy Birthday' and 'For She's A Jolly Good Fellow' and laughing, having a marvellous time.

Where was everyone now? Rubbing the cool, gelatinous liquid into her palms and between her fingers, Emma knew she had to stop this niggling parasite eating her up. She wasn't one of the 'popular' teachers at the school, far from it. So, why would they throw her a party? Besides, balloons freaked Emma out.

Had Carl at least acknowledged today with a birthday card or hinted at something, anything to suggest plans for a celebration tonight when he called her for their daily morning chat, Emma's insecurities would have remained in their eggshell cocoon for another day. It also annoyed her that upon he barely even said 'goodbye' or 'love you' or any type of affectionate remark, instead rattling off a mumble of words as he drove in his car, terminating the call early. His dental career took precedence over his girlfriend it seemed and Emma didn't like coming second to a bunch of drills and fluoride. They had only been dating for a few months, but their relationship was growing and blooming into something wonderful. Now Emma wasn't so sure.

Suddenly, her eyes danced and she gasped with excitement.

Perhaps, Carl was going to surprise her! He said he was rushing off to a dental convention in Daytona this morning. It must be all part of his plan to lead Emma down the garden path, thinking he forgot when in fact, he has remembered and was putting together something so sweet and delightful it would erase all of the bad thoughts conjured up in her head.

Emma's heart fluttered. That had to be it. Of course, that's why Carl was acting so bizarre!

He was probably planning a romantic, candlelit dinner at Breadstix right now, followed by slow dancing and slow kissing, then cuddling on the couch at his condo after dinner while watching An Affair to Remember. And flowers. Emma loved flowers. A great big bunch, arranged in a pretty pink box tied by white ribbon delivered to her office, with a note in Carl's handwriting, saying _Dear Emma, I love you more each day, happy birthday to my sweetheart. Yours always, Carl xxx_ '. Maybe after lunch the flowers would be there at the foot of her desk, waiting patiently for the birthday girl to arrive. And Carl would be there too, with open arms, embracing her as they kissed and he spun her in the air, full of love, laughter and happiness.

She hoped there would be roses. When she was a little girl, she fell in love with The Secret Garden novel and movie, starring Margaret O'Brien. Watching the garden between those walls change to glorious colour entranced Emma, whose imaginings took flight at the wonder and spectre of creating and nurturing new life. She made her own miniature garden with a cardboard box and cut-out paper flowers that she sprayed with her mother's rose-scented perfume. An actual garden was too dirty and full of creepy-crawlies for her to consider, but occasionally, Emma and her mum would go flower picking and, with her apron and gardening gloves, snip off pink and white and red rosebuds to add to her creation.

Oh… the possibilities. Emma twirled around in her office, grinning as she bit her lip, thinking about how amazing the rest of her birthday would pan out. Her mind raced, bubbling with anticipation for what was to come.

"Happy birthday, Emma," she said to herself, picking up her yellow handbag and lunch box, heading towards the teacher's lounge with a new-found bounce in her steps.

Her expectations were so high, it would be catastrophic if they came crashing down.


	2. Chapter 2

Will Schuester sat at his usual table in the lunch room, munching on his standard ham and salad sandwich with a choc-chip cookie for dessert and a milk chaser. Each crunch into the crisp lettuce shattered his nerves a little more. The wait for Emma Pillsbury to enter the room unsettled him so.

He didn't know what to say, but he had to say something to her, a simple 'Happy Birthday' at the least. After all, it was Emma's birthday and he had organised a special something for her after school which would blow her away. But first, the tiny flicker in his heart had to pluck up the courage to speak, if his voice would cooperate.

Undoubtedly, Will's behaviour over the last few months resembled that of a person he didn't realise or like. Stemming from envy of Emma's new relationship whilst his crumbled, he couldn't accept that she had moved on completely. It hurt so bad; the kind of pain a swarm of angry bees would inflict on the human body if antagonised. Will thought the ache in his heart would never subside, but time and distance helped.

He always drifted back to their last kiss, the one where he promised to fight for her and win her back. A fleeting promise; he couldn't compete with Emma's happiness. And being happy for her proved difficult, but he accepted it without conviction.

Yes, he needed his space as part of his method to move on. Will limited his time in the hallways, changing his daily route through the school to his Spanish class and then the choir room. Throwing himself into Glee Club and rehearsals and set lists occupied his time, and there would be the odd chance when he'd find a song that reminded him of Emma and he'd have to start forgetting her all over again.

A peace offering, a way to say sorry and a small gesture to show he still valued their friendship were Will's intentions, and he prayed that Emma would accept. He decided too much time had slipped between them and he wanted to make things right.

Taking a bite out of his cookie, Will chewed slowly, savouring the dark chocolate chips in the half-baked circle of deliciousness. He took a sip from his tall glass of cold milk and coughed, almost choking when he saw Emma walk in.

As she scanned the room for a spare seat, a lighting strike inside Emma made her body jolt when she locked eyes with Will. A sudden shiver leapt upon her shoulders, her first step towards Will robotic but shaky. It had been so long. Too long.

And he looked as handsome as ever in his navy and red striped tie, navy vest and a white long-sleeved business shirt tucked into his Levi jeans.

"Emma… hi," Will greeted the pretty redhead, rubbing his clammy palms on his jeans and adjusting his tie. Remnants of a milk moustache sat upon the edges of his top lip. He pulled the chair out next to him so she could sit.

"Hey, Will," she replied, accepting his offer for a seat, placing her lunch containers on the table and her handbag on the chair to her right. She caught a glimpse of Will smiling broadly with his milk moustache and turned her head, stifling a shy chuckle.

"What?" he asked, enchanted by the flutter of her eyelashes and the way she blushed when she smiled and laughed. Why couldn't Emma stop being so adorable, she was making him crazy.

"You – you have a milk moustache," she pointed out, picking up his napkin to wipe away the milk. As her hand closed in on his face, Will reached to take the napkin from her, their fingers brushing against each other. A brief touch of her soft skin reminded him of their past relationship. He wanted to hold her in his arms again, to touch her, to love her.

"Thanks," Will wiped away the drops, along with the likelihood of getting back what he'd lost with Emma. "I like my milk."

"I know," Emma quietly responded, shuffling the containers in front of her and removing their lids, her way to rid the uneasy feeling building inside and regain some sort of control. Taking a pair of plastic gloves from her handbag and sliding them over her hands, she picked a grape out and popped it in her mouth, the sound of her chewing deafening compared to the awkward silence between them.

Will noticed how uncomfortable Emma had become, sensing she had troubles on her mind from the way she fussed with lunch. And back to wearing plastic gloves while eating, a sure sign that something wasn't right. He wanted to change that, to have the camaraderie they once had, to share things like before. But instead of delving into something Emma may not be willing to share at this point in time, he wanted to brighten her mood.

"Em?" Will interrupted the silence, eager to have her smiling again. She turned her head mid-bite, pert lips surrounding the green grape, unable to react as Will drew near, giving her gentle hug.

Those all too familiar arms wrapped around her long and firm, and for a moment, Emma lost herself in his embrace.

"Happy Birthday Emma," Will congratulated her warmly, his back overcome with a case of goose bumps as she reciprocated the hug, her hands attaching, clinging to his vest through the crinkling plastic. Or so it felt. His imagination loved to embellish innocent situations, playing manipulative games on him. But her grip was awful tight.

A tear formed in Emma's eye, one part relief and the other happiness as she hugged her friend. She could call him that again. "Oh my gosh, you remembered, thank you so much." Emma had a reservoir of emotions about to burst its banks inside her stomach, her heart barely holding on. Finally someone has said the words she was longing to hear all morning.

"Of course I remembered!" Will exclaimed, giving her one last squeeze as their hug came to a regrettable end. For him, anyway. Seeing Emma this way, the joy alive her eyes, made sacrificing a few extra seconds of an incredible, overdue hug, worth all the more. Moreover, had he kept his arms around her any longer, he may not have wanted to let go. "Did you think your best friend forgot?"

She mopped away her sadness with a fresh napkin. "Everyone forgot. My parents. The school staff. Maybe even Carl but I think he could be planning something for tonight. I'm going to call him this afternoon." She paused, thinking about two words Will said. "Best friend?"

"Sure. Aren't we best friends?" He already knew what Emma was going to say. He wasn't a friend at all, just another crummy person who treated Emma like a possession and acted like a spoilt brat when he didn't get what he wanted. _She should tell you off, gosh knows you need it_ , the voice in his head rattled. But Emma, a gentle and kind person, would never do such a thing. Resentment didn't work well with Emma's personality.

She clasped her hands in her laps, twiddling her thumbs. "Well, it hasn't felt like that recently, Will," Emma emphatically replied, staring into his emerald eyes. She wanted him to see how much it hurt, to see the pain on her face, to see the glisten of salty tears welling in her eyes. The anger from earlier fizzled to sadness. "I'm mad at you. And sad at the same time."

His stomach sank to the ground, seeing her so profoundly upset. She called him out on the absolute truth and to think he caused all this killed him. "I know, and I'd like to apologise for that." Fighting the anxiousness building inside, he made a fist of his right hand, then covered it with his left, squeezing tight. "I haven't been fair to you or Carl, and I got caught up in my own insecurities and screwed everything up. I take full responsibility and I hope we can put this behind us."

Will exhaled the breath he had been holding and took the final bites of his fast-disappearing cookie, brushing his hands on his jeans to remove the crumbs. "I behaved badly, Emma." He waited for her to say something, looking right into those big eyes, their colour reminding him of falling autumn leaves and burnt umber.

He was trying, really trying to make amends, a sonnet of regret etched into his face. It took a lot for him to say those words, and for that she was thankful. "You see this, Will?" She picked up a pretend something off the table, holding it between her thumb and index finger. He nodded although couldn't quite understand what she implied.

"This is me throwing the past misgivings behind us," Emma stated, tossing the pretend something over her shoulder. Emma could never stay angry at Will for long, her disposition wouldn't allow it. And her small act of showing forgiveness took all of Will's self-reproach with it.

"Thanks Emma, I'm glad," he smiled, running his fingers through his curly hair and relaxing back into his seat. "I'll make it up to Carl as well, I promise. Uh, I'm really sorry that your birthday hasn't turned out the way you wanted. I should have organised a get-together at lunch." He felt terrible that Emma did not receive the same treatment as Eleanor did the other day. Hopefully he could make up for that as well.

His thoughts were drawn to the blue box tied with ivory satin ribbon, sitting in the top drawer of his desk, the gift inside one which he stumbled upon during a late, Saturday afternoon. He bought it without hesitation, regardless of the price tag, although living on rations for the next month would be difficult. Emma was worth it. She would be consumed with delight the moment her fingers unwrapped the tissue paper, and the heartfelt card he tucked underneath the ribbon, would make her lost for words.

Emma shot him a bright grin and although it did hurt, she chose not to show it, shrugging instead and adjusting her belt that had slipped to the left. She couldn't have the buckle off-centre. "You know what? It doesn't matter, Will. It wouldn't surprise me if Sue deleted my birthday from the internal school calendar due to some concocted myth about gingers being born without a soul and therefore how could I possibly have a birthday."

They shared a laugh. It was good to laugh together again. At least Emma was taking this mishap in her stride. And she was undoubtedly spot-on about Sue; only Sue Sylvester would go to this extreme to make a person miserable. In Sue's twisted logic, she wouldn't see the issue.

Will and Emma spent the last twenty minutes of lunch catching up about Glee Club, school and life in general. Emma spoke mostly of Carl, how patient he was with her problems by messing up her routines, mixing pieces of fruit together and how they enjoyed the midnight screenings of Rocky Horror. "I'm hooked on the thrill of the unknown Will, being spontaneous. Me, Emma Pillsbury, who colour coordinates clothes, who can't have food touching. Now I'm mixing food on the same plate, in the same bowl – crazy huh?" She looked down at her separate containers of grapes and strawberries. "Well, Carl does it for me most times when we're together, but I never complain when he does!"

Every positive mention of Carl and how great he was had Will wishing the earth would swallow him whole. What was so fantastic about this Carl? His persona appeared a little too perfect, yet Carl and his bag of dental tools were perfect for Emma. Hell, they were doing more for Emma than Will ever did when they dated. But for Emma, he would accept that this was the man she'd chosen. He had to.

"That's great Emma. It sounds like the two of you make a… great couple," he surmised mildly, keeping his real emotions behind a brick wall. He was about to tell Emma more about the New Directions, instead he was interrupted by the clanging of the bell, signalling not only the conclusion of lunch, but a reprieve from hearing more about Carl.

Will stood up and threw his rubbish in the bin. He leaned in behind Emma and lowered his voice. "Hey, I have to go to my grade 10 Spanish class, but come by the choir room after school; I have a birthday surprise for you. Say, 3:30?"

His mysterious request coupled by the rich tones of his voice sent a warm tingle from the base of Emma's spine right into her ear. "It's a date… uh deal. Looking forward to it. See you then." _Date. I said date!_ Emma was so embarrassed. She shoved another grape in her mouth to keep from saying anything further.

Her slip of the tongue did not go unnoticed to Will, but he pretended like it never happened. "By the way, I bet Carl has planned something really incredible for your birthday," Will added as he left the room.

He meant it.


	3. Chapter 3

Conjugating Spanish verbs to an uninterested bunch of grade ten students sapped Will of his energy for the language he loved so much. The students in the back row were too busy spit-balling the ceiling whilst the others were throwing paper planes or catching up on sleep. Wouldn't they be in for a shock on Friday when they walk into a pop quiz?

The following period was free and while Will would normally use that time to plan for Glee Club, which was in another 30 minutes and his final class of the day, he chose instead to call Carl and let him know that he was cool with Emma and him dating.

Unbelievably, Will had Carl's number in his cell, highly likely from a small lapse in his judgement one day when he thought it would be a good idea to have a dentist on call. Will guessed that one day was now. He tapped the phone receiver icon next to him name and put the cell to his ear, resting his feet upon his desk covered with test papers and reports to be graded.

As he waited for Carl to answer, he knew he had to make this call, for Emma's sake more than anything. However much it pained him, to speak to her new boyfriend, he was doing it for Emma, to prove the good guy within still existed. Heck, maybe he and Carl could become friends. _Don't let yourself get carried away, Schue_ , he reminded his inner voice.

Then, a click and he was connected. "Schuester? What do you want?" barked Carl. Will was the last person he wanted to talk to. He had tried to be friends with him in the past, but the way Will acted when he started going out with Emma didn't warrant a friendship.

Will didn't waste any time. "Uh, I've been speaking with Emma, an-"

Carl cut him off. "That better be all you're doing."

"Let me finish," Will interjected. Carl had every right to snap at him. "I'd like to apologise for my behaviour recently. I've been unfair and bitter towards you from the moment you and Emma started seeing each other. That's not who I am, and not who I want you to think I am. I didn't get the chance to know you because I didn't want to know you. But I want that to change."

There was a pause. "Very manly of you to admit you've been a total douche, Schuester. What did Emma say to all this?"

Chagrined, Will kept his cool, taking Carl's comment in his stride, silent vapours of anger escaping from his ears. "We sorted everything out. She understood and we're fine," Will explained, scratching at his neck, dying to terminate the call.

"If Emma's okay with it, then I'm ok with it. That's the type of person she is, not one to hold a grudge. But if you're trying something funny, like sabotaging our relationship, you better watch it," Carl warned, as he paced the foyer of the convention centre. He looked up at the time and a leggy blonde in a short skirt caught his eye. He nodded at her with appreciation. She smiled seductively and gave him the finger.

Will wasn't afraid of Carl, but he was of his dentist drill. "No. No-no, uh nothing like that. So I was thinking, how about the three of us go out to dinner on the weekend? Unless you think it will be too soon after Emma's birthday. She mentioned you might have something planned for tonight." Curiosity ate away at Will. What if… what if Carl was thinking of proposing to Emma? He shuddered at the thought.

"What are you talking about?" Carl asked, furrowing his brow, irritated that Will was already meddling in their relationship.

Will made a face as he sat up in his chair, confused. "Emma's birthday? It's today. She mentioned that she's going to call you this afternoon to see if you had organised something." Will shook his head and looked up to the ceiling, crossing his eyes.

"Oh shit." Carl almost dropped his cell. How in the hell did he forget?

"Did you forget?" Will asked, slightly amused and shook his head, quietly cheering.

"No, I didn't forget. I just didn't realise it was today. Shit what am I going to do? I'm about to go back into the theatre for another lecture and I'm here tomorrow as I'm training some students. You gotta help me out buddy."

Buddy? Since when did he and Carl become buddies? "Gee, Carl, I don't know…" Will's voice trailed off.

"Please? From one bro in need to another?" Carl solicited, his voice hinting of distress. "I'll handle Emma. Can you organise some flowers and a gift? I'll pay you back when I'm in Lima on Friday. It would really help me out. Emma will be terribly upset if I screw this first major event in our relationship."

The turnaround in Carl's imperious attitude knocked Will for six. It also had his mind ticking over, the cogs of a shrewd ploy turning into fruition. Carl's absent-mindedness was working in Will's favour.

In spite of that, one person's feelings were at stake. Emma. And Will wanted the best for her. So, he opted to play the hero, to assure that Emma would receive her flowers and gift as Carl requested. Grovelled would be a better word.

And Emma would never know the truth unless the right moment called for it.

A small sacrifice for someone he still loved, although from afar.

"Well… well alright. I'll take care of it for you. Don't worry."

Carl breathed a small sigh. "Thanks man. I owe you one. But remember, no funny business."

"Promise," Will declared with his fingers crossed behind his back.


	4. Chapter 4

No flowers were waiting for Emma when she returned to her office after lunch.

Her shoulders took a nosedive as she trudged back to her desk with a deflated look on her face. Dammit. She had allowed herself to expect a gorgeous arrangement of her favourite flowers in the pretty pink box with a white ribbon. She made allowances for Carl, giving him the benefit of the doubt that he hadn't forgotten, that he was planning a birthday surprise, something special, just for her. She permitted herself to create fantastical visions on repeat that would make turning 32 years old fun instead of just another birthday.

Shades of grey, dark and gloomy, shrouded her eyes. How did she allow herself to become so tangled in a web of disappointment?

She pulled her cell phone from her handbag, staring at the screen, praying for a text message, a missed call, any kind of notification to boost her flattened spirit.

"Ring. Ring. Why won't you ring?" She demanded from the inanimate object in her hand, pursing her lips together, willing for an answer before she threw it across the room.

It rang.

"Augh!" Emma yelped suddenly, tossing the phone into the air. She scrambled to pick it up from the floor and saw Carl's smiling face looking back at her.

"Carl! Hi!" She squeaked with excitement.

Carl heard her voice and began to sing:

 _The time has come and it's finally here_

 _Have a candlelit dinner_

 _Or just settle down my dear_

 _Whatever you like girl_

 _It's all up to you_

 _We could celebrate Emma_

 _Cause it's your birthday…_

"Happy birthday, baby," Carl spoke resonantly on the other end of the line. "I love you."

Warmth glided through Emma's veins, her cheeks colouring a light crimson. Her face ached from smiling; unable to do anything but listen, thrilled from the impromptu birthday song. She wiped tears from her eyes, overcome with love and happiness. She loved his voice, the rich accents created delving deep into Emma's mind and soul, captivating her, mesmerising her, triggering emotions that were in need of liberation. His singing always brightened any shadows that followed her. She wished he would sing to her more often.

"Carl, I love you too, so much. Thank you for the song. I'm so happy you called. I – I thought you'd forgotten," Emma gushed, a single chuckle hitching through her sniffles. She took a tissue from the box behind her and dabbed under her eyes and cheeks.

"Me? Forget? Never baby," Carl insisted, looking at the magnificent skyline through the windows outside the conference centre. "How's your day so far?"

"Ah well, not too bad so far. A little quiet. It would be better if you were here with me. Are you coming home tonight?" Emma asked with anticipation, hoping he would blow off the conference early and be at her doorstep by six. She wanted to spend her birthday with Carl, not by herself.

He shoved one hand in his pocket, fiddling with loose change. "Here's the thing, Em. I'm stuck here until tomorrow, they've asked me to demonstrate dental techniques to some of the university students. It's a big opportunity for me. I wish I could drop everything and be with you, but work depends on it. It could lead to bigger things for me."

Emma bit her lip. That was not what she wanted to hear. "I see," she said shortly, keeping her voice intact, hiding her disappointment.

He detected and oddity in her tone. "I haven't forgotten you baby. Just you wait and see. And tomorrow I'll be home. I'll take you out to the fanciest restaurant in town. Better than Breadstix. Or it could just be you… me… a movie, two glasses of Riesling and the glow of the television to keep us company." Carl murmured slow and sexy into the phone, generating enough heat in the conversation to warm Minnesota in the winter. He pictured it now, dim lights and empty bottles of wine, end credits of the movie they almost finished watching rolling across the screen and pieces of clothing tossed aimlessly on the couch whilst he and Emma made love on the soft, white shaggy rug on his living room floor. He closed his eyes and smiled, swaying to the harmonious music in his head.

Emma sighed, fanning herself in jubilation. "Ooh. Sounds simply wonderful."

"You know it baby," Carl said, grinning, wild thoughts swimming in about his head. "But… no giggling when I touch you this time. It's giving me a complex."

"I can't help it, you know that," Emma replied, the curve of her waist bending from the touch of imaginary fingers. "It's how I am."

He jutted his bottom jaw forward, rolling his eyes. "Babe I know we're working through your… issues together. But how is our relationship to last if you won't let me touch you in a not-so-PG way?"

Emma's face soured. "I thought _we_ had a lasting relationship that wasn't _just_ about that Carl," she said stiffly, a bad feeling rising in the pit of her stomach, enough to make her want to puke in the waste paper basket under her desk. She wished he would stop pressuring her. She wasn't ready.

Carl backtracked immediately, stumbling over his words. "I – I meant _grow_ , Emma – how is our relationship t-to _grow_."

Silence.

He dug his fingers into the nape of his neck, forcefully massaging the tightened muscles and scrunched his forehead. Biting his tongue was working wonders. "Baby, please don't be like this."

Painfully aware of Emma's evasion to anything physical, Carl hadn't given up hope that one day he and Emma would become intimate. He hoped that day would arrive very soon. Striking out at the plate every time he went for the home run frustrated him so.

He heard her breathing on the other end of the phone and tried again. "Baby, I'm sorry, I know intimacy is a –"

"Yes it is a sensitive subject. Please, can we just drop this?" Emma blurted out, feeling very uncomfortable in her virginal skin. She sat down at her desk and rested her head against the palm of her left hand, unnerved at how such a pleasant conversation deteriorated so quickly.

"Look, I have to go back to the presentation now anyway. I'll call you tomorrow when I'm about to leave. I want to see my beautiful princess when I get home. I love you, Emma," he concluded amiably, making kissing noises into the receiver. "Happy birthday."

"I love you too Carl," she artlessly replied, returning the kisses and terminating the call. She had to hold it together. Logging into her computer, Emma answered a few emails and went about her tasks. She didn't want to think about Carl or birthdays or sex. All three were a tearful combination.

Whatever happiness Emma had left drained from her body. Strapped into a rollercoaster of joy and misery, the ups and downs and loops were playing havoc with Emma's feelings and emotions, blackening them into darkness. An impossible situation, traversed for too long. She loved Carl so much, more than she thought she could, or ever would love another person. And he loved her back. If he didn't, he had a funny way of showing it. When together, they always had so much fun, laughing and talking and doing all the wonderful things two people in love do.

So, why did he cast doubt between them?

Why did his words feel so deliberate?

Why did he forget her birthday?

Maybe the only growth in their relationship was apart?

This couldn't be happening. No. Countless questions buzzed around with no answers to satisfy Emma's uneasiness. Only more questions presented themselves. Maybes, what ifs, question after question, harboring uncertainty and confusion. With two fierce pumps, cooling gel from the hand sanitiser filled her cupped palm and she rubbed vigorously, cleaning abrasions that were more mental than physical.

Somehow, Emma's virginity always came up in the mix, a subtle hint that her apprehension towards sex was the underlying cause to simple disagreements. It wasn't fair. She retreated into herself, stewing her thoughts in a pot of mushy dreams and harsh reality, wishing she never had a birthday, that birthdays never existed, that she never existed.

"Delivery for Emma Pillsbury!" A deep bellow came from across the room.

Startled, Emma flinched at her desk, the back of her hand knocking over the pump bottle of hand sanitiser. Shakily, she stood up, returning the bottle to its correct place on her desk. An older gentleman, with tufts of wispy grey hair sticking out from under his faded cap entered the office, carrying a long, pink box with thick, white ribbon.

"Wh-wh-what's this?" Emma asked, her lips frozen in the shape of an O.

The deliveryman, who, according to the embroidered patch on his overalls, was named Graham, grinned and placed the box in her bewildered, outstretched arms.

"A special delivery for Emma Pillsbury. That you?" Graham enquired, fiddling with his visitor's pass. "Damn cheap clasp," he muttered under his breath.

Her eyes widened at the shock of holding a box addressed to her. "Y-Yes…"

Pulling a clipboard out from under his arm, he thrust it in her face. "I need you to sign here."

Eyeing the pen dotted with teeth marks attached to the clipboard by a browning string, Emma took a tissue from her desk and wrapped it around the pen, signing the sheet of grubby paper, ensuring no part of her skin touched it.

Satisfied, Graham shoved the clipboard back under his arm. "Thank you. Special day?" he asked inquisitively.

"My birthday," Emma answered, smiled cheerily, as her face glowed a dusty crimson. She laid the box on her desk and removed the lid, revealing a square, white envelope atop a dozen long-stemmed red roses. A whirl of excitement caught in her throat as she picked up a single red rose and smelled it. Fresh and fragrant like a bright spring day, Emma was entranced with her stunning gift.

"Oh wow," she exclaimed, admiring their beauty.

Graham nodded his head in approval. "You are blessed, you truly are. Those roses ain't cheap, to receive this many, boy, someone thinks the world of you."

Eager to know who sent the gift, Emma opened the card and read aloud:

 _Her gesture, motion, and her smiles,_

 _Her wit, her voice my heart beguiles,_

 _Beguiles my heart, I know not why,_

 _And yet, I'll love her till I die._

 _A dozen roses for my love,_

 _Happy Birthday Emma,_

 _With all my heart…_

 _Carl xxx_

"Ohh…" Emma brought the lush, velvety rose bud to her nose again and inhaled before the dam broke, tears rolling over the crest of her cheeks. Emma's confusion reigned high, her two states of mind battling and crashing into the other, both seeking supremacy to foster a clearer perspective, the right perspective, yet neither accepted defeat. She didn't know what to think, what to believe.

She just didn't know.

Her head spun. She felt the start of a headache grip at her temple as her shoulders shook from the melancholy feeling which refused to disappear.

"Don't cry, you should be happy," Graham observed, offering his support.

Staring at the roses through watery eyes, she wondered if Carl really did love her. "It's my birthday, and I'll cry if I want to," sobbed Emma, dashing to the bathroom.


	5. Chapter 5

Carl shoved his phone into his jacket and made a beeline for the bubbler to rid the bad taste in his mouth. He offended Emma in the worst way, his words niggling at this back like an itch he couldn't reach to scratch. Her voice, the crushing sound of distress, wouldn't leave his ears.

Everything was becoming too much. Burying his real feelings, his inner battle to keep patient and remain in smooth waters was failing. It had to be a sign, a tsunami of broken dreams smashing onto the shore. Forgetting Emma's birthday was only the beginning. His subconscious was telling him something.

Their relationship wasn't working.

And how was he going to break the news that his stint in Daytona might become permanent? Finally receiving the recognition he worked so hard for, the recognition he would never find in a dinky town like Lima invigorated his passion and determination to become the forerunner in dentistry in the state. It was a way forward and a way out.

He had to consider Emma's feelings. A completely new environment could undo all her progress. The little shell she built around herself, fragile as it was, bared promise of trouncing the OCD demons that plagued Emma for so long. It may have been a part of her, but it didn't have to be. Carl wasn't a medical doctor; he enjoyed alleviating Emma's condition, catching her unawares with his impulsiveness, making her step closer to internal freedom. They had fun together, true.

But it wasn't enough.

Why did this realisation only become clear now? It was time to sit down and seriously consider the options, the future, which path, the right path, to take. Duo or solo. Carl didn't want regrets, nor leave traces of despair behind.

He drank in the cool water, refreshing and satiating, as he weighed up the alternatives, a rather painful game of Ping-Pong batting his brain about. As he rose from the drink tap, he wiped his mouth and stared out the window. So completely oblivious to his surroundings, he didn't even feel the tap on his shoulder until the second time.

"Hey stranger, we're all going out for a few drinks in about an hour, want to join us?" That voice. That familiar, velvety voice.

"Amanda?" The unmistakable flow of soft, chocolate curls cascading down her back, black-rimmed glasses framing a pair of dark brown eyes he'd stared into many times before and her trademark fire engine red lips. Wearing a purple blouse and grey knee-length skirt with matching heels, she smiled sweetly at Carl, while a group of young dentists stood behind her, talking.

"Yes, it's me, Carl. It's been a… a long time," a wistful Amanda answered, combing self-conscious fingers through her hair. To speak to a man she hadn't seen in years took more courage than she thought. Especially since their last conversation didn't end too well. But to see him again… old feelings, good feelings, resurfaced at a frightening pace, faster than a child's spinning top.

Carl blew out a long breath and scratched his chin. "It sure has. What has it been? Around 4 years now? How are you, anyway?"

"Around that I think! Yeah, I'm really well, thank you. I must say, your lecture today on molar health was inspiring," she bubbled, excited and stunned at how good he looked after all these years.

He smiled, chuffed from the compliment. "You really think so, huh?"

"Sure! We're just discussing it now. Your lectures were always interesting back in the good old days of Ohio State. Nice to know some things haven't changed."

"I see something's changed with you though. Congratulations on becoming a dentist! When did you finally decide to join the Amalgam of Dentists?" Carl joked, noticing her polished gold-plated engraved name badge pinned neatly above the left side of her well-endowed chest.

She laughed along with him. "Oh a few years ago now, actually not long after you left the surgery I went back to school. As you know I was only outside the requirements to get into Dentistry at University in the first place."

"I do. Well, you're a smart cookie, you can put your mind to anything – I always told you that," Carl stated, mindful of her intelligence, which others found intimidating, especially men. However it never fazed him, in fact, he found it rather sexy.

She blushed at his nice comment. "So… you want to join us?" Amanda asked again, playfully tapping his bicep.

It had been eons since he and Amanda worked together and even longer since their first meeting at the University in Columbus. Carl held his first job as a qualified dentist at a surgery nearby his alma mater and to see his name decaled on the glass door proved his late nights and dedication to his chosen career did not go to waste. After graduating with honours, Carl delighted in returning to Ohio State to be a guest lecturer two years later.

Amanda entered into the dank lecture room and his life again that cool October morning, completing her final year in dental hygiene. He vaguely remembered her from his student days, as the dental crowd usually hung out together in their own part of the campus, although the seniors hardly paid attention to first years. He thought originally thought her to be silly and childish, obviously here solely to pick up a man who would one day have some money to his name, not to learn.

So much had changed since that first impression.

As he shuffled papers nervously for his first lecture, she approached him and introduced herself, and Carl picked up on her quiet achiever status instantly. It was Amanda's remarkable grasp on dentistry and her inquisitive nature which beckoned Carl to offer her an intern position at the surgery, to mentor her as she prepared for her final exams, to take her under his wing.

And under his sheets.

The eventual break-up, harsh but inevitable, brought up old feelings and created hostilities between them, severing a great partnership at home and at work, when Carl decided he needed some space and moved to Lima to find what he searched for.

Then he found Emma.

However, those three years with Amanda were never far from his mind, and he looked back on them with warm memories. What happened between them, all that time ago, no longer mattered. They had moved on. Different lives, new pursuits. There was no harm now in becoming friends again.

He looked at his former student, former dental assistant and former lover, hesitating, thinking he should really go back to his hotel room and have a quiet night before another day of lectures and then the long drive home.

And Emma – he had to call Emma too. How could he be so stupid to forget her birthday? Plus, relying on Schuester to bail him out of the whole sticky mess; a rash decision that might cost him dearly.

Who was the douche now, Carl?

He cleared his throat and grinned. "Would love to."

Another rash decision.

His troubles would take a backseat for the remainder of the day.

Blowing off some steam was just what Carl needed.


	6. Chapter 6

It was a good half hour before Emma returned to her office after abandoning the delivery guy and her present from Carl. She hoped no one heard her wails in the bathroom, allowing herself to let go, releasing all those pent-up emotions until she was numb. Any more water and she worried she would turn into Alice in Wonderland and float through the hallways in a sea of tears.

Dabbing her left eye with a crisp, white tissue, Emma woefully sat back at her desk, the flowers looming over her like the dark secret of her personal life she had kept private and very well-guarded. Emma knew one day she would have to share, to let someone in who would understand and be okay with it.

Will was okay with it, for the brief moment they were together. Why wasn't Carl? Why couldn't he accept that this was who she was? They were different people with different intentions and perspectives. Emma could see that now. And, as she looked back, pondering her and Carl's relationship, the subtle signs were there, signs she overlooked. Being so captivated by Carl distended her blind spot on love, overlooking derisive words shrouded in compliments.

Her brown eyes turned a misty shade of blue. Emma had done the one thing she was afraid of – opening up to the person she loved only to feel ashamed and thinking less of herself because of it. Had her entire life become a cliché, one of which she could find depicted in cheesy romantic movies, one with a heavily tragic back story where the female protagonist has been so unlucky in love in the past only to find happiness with the person she least expected?

Emma's life was not a movie; it was real and happening to her, one heartbreaking stab at a time. She plucked her measuring tape out of the top drawer of her desk and straightened and measured and angled all the stationery on her desk until she was satisfied with placement, from her pencil holder to the coaster resting under her initialled 'E' teacup.

Inanimate objects were controllable when the rest of Emma's world was not. Slamming the top drawer shut, she pressed her lips together, irritated with allowing Carl to get the better of her.

Perhaps he wasn't the greatest guy in the world. And if his remarks were any indication of his real feelings this early in their relationship, the foreseeable future for them looked bleak. Emma was sure of it. What would happen when he returned? Would that wounding conversation dissipate into the howling winds, lost forever? Would he pretend it never happened and they would continue playing boyfriend and girlfriend? Worst case scenarios flared around her like a lighting storm.

Carl had a charm, an irresistible charm, which ensnared her heart and mind, taking her on a new path, a new journey – a journey to lead to the happiest ever after Emma could wish for. She had become enamoured, the illusory golden pedestal rising higher and higher with each turn of the handle escalating Carl to the summit. Unbeknownst to Emma, it also escalated her vulnerabilities, bringing them to the forefront, and while it seemed Carl cared, it was an unmerited façade.

Seeking a brighter side to end this day on a happy note, Emma desired an immediate change of environment to remove her from the funk of a possible disintegrating relationship. She brought herself back to her computer screen, mulling over Carl and birthdays and sex until her mind refocused on her work and guidance counselling, burying deeper under emails and paperwork. Emma was in the process of overhauling her very informative and popular pamphlets, now considering adding _When Phone Calls Hurt_ to her works in progress of _Bacne for Beginners_ and _Four-Eyed and Fabulous_.

She yawned behind her hand, weary and drained. Her stinging eyes wanted no more of the glowing computer screen. Plucking a piece of ginger hair from in front of her face, which was partially stealing her vision, she glanced at her white, hand-painted mantel clock, its tiny gold-plated hands indicating it was almost 3:30pm, and almost time to see Will.

A rush of nerves surged through her, landing in the pit of her stomach. She couldn't understand why she felt this way. It was only Will.

He was just a friend.

Well, a best friend.

And nothing more. They had already dipped their toes into the cool waters of romance, the ebbs and flows seemingly out of sync, unable to keep whatever they had afloat. Beached upon the sand bank, their boat of happily ever after didn't stand a chance. Love leaked through the weathered frame, unable to be salvaged.

In a twinkling, a great love slipped away in the darkness of night.

Thankful for their renewed friendship, Emma was pleased to have Will as an ally, someone who would support her and talk to about all the little things, like they used to. She could trust him.

But what could have been… it was surreptitiously existing in the ether, never to materialise further than her own created fantasies.


	7. Chapter 7

Will was anxious.

There was no reason to be, and he chastised himself to snap out of it immediately. It was only Emma stopping by. _You invited her, for Pete's sake_.

After another crazy and somewhat unfulfilling teaching day, he looked forward to settling in with the New Directions and going through possible songs for the upcoming Sectionals, but for the last half hour he couldn't escape the teenage rowdiness and yelled at them to concentrate.

"Guys!" he boomed, frustrated at their inattentiveness. "Can we have more listening and less talking, please?" He didn't need this today, not with Emma visiting the choir room. She didn't know it yet, but Will had planned a special New Directions performance especially for her. The chatter died down and all eyes were on their vested leader.

"Chill, Mr Schue," piped up Noah Puckerman, Glee Club's stereotypical bad boy. "You've been busting everyone's rump all day. What's got your tie twisted?" Puck sniggered, giving Finn a playful punch in the arm.

"Leave Mr Schue alone; he's right, all we've been doing this lesson is mucking around. Now, let's get back on track," Rachel smiled, pulling a piece of paper out of her book bag and adjusting her sitting position. She took a deep breath and continued. "I've come up with some fan-"

"I know why Mr Schue's uptight," Santana chimed in, cutting off Rachel and grinning smugly at the Glee coach.

Will gave a look of 'I give up' and put his hands on his hips, waiting for a doozy of a response that would be sure to embarrass him. These teenagers knew more about his love life than he ever intended.

"Seriously, if you think Miss Pillsbury is going to leave the hottest dentist in all of Lima, no wait, Ohio, for you," Santana scoffed, eyeballing his boring vest and tie, "then you should be thinking of a better way to win her back than having us put on a dinky performance in the choir room."

"Dr Howell really is hot Mr Schue," Brittany confirmed Santana's comment. "And he's an animal lover. That just screams 'keeper'. Once, he gave me this box of string for Lord Tubbington to play with."

"That would have been dental floss," Mercedes interjected with her usual sass, rolling her eyes at the ponytailed blond.

"Oh, I wondered why my cat smelled like Christmas candy canes," replied a confused Brittany, scratching her head.

"Whoa, back it up here, I'm not trying to win anyone back," he stated firmly, and he hoped, convincingly. Frankly, yes, an ulterior motive did exist. Screw Carl. If he couldn't remember his own girlfriend's birthday, Will sure as hellfire would take the opportunity and run with it, along with some justifiable sweet revenge.

"It's Miss Pillsbury's birthday today and she's been so supportive of you guys and Glee Club, I thought it would be nice to sing the songs we've been working on for the last few sessions for her, and it also ties in with our theme for this week." Will pulled out a Magic Marker and wrote in capital letters on the white board, turning around with wild enthusiasm. "Celebration!"

Kurt brought a finger to his lips, tapping away. "In other words, this week's real theme is Miss Pillsbury and your attempts at getting her back through song?"

Will gave up, letting out an exasperated sigh and squeezed the back of his head. "Guilty."

"Hey, I'm down with it," Sam raised his hand.

"Same!" Artie and Tina chimed in together.

"Don't worry Mr Schue," Quinn stood up, her blond hair held back by a pink headband which matched her cardigan and striped dress, "we'll take care of everything."

"Fine. I'm in. But only because I look forward to Dr Howell beating you up when he finds out," stated Santana, pleased with herself. She enjoyed having one over her teachers, especially Mr Schuester.

"Right! Positions everyone," Rachel called out, clapping her hands together. Finn gave Rachel a wink and headed over to the drum set, flipping a stick in the air.

"Miss Pillsbury should be here any moment. Now – just like we've practised," reminded an uneasy Will, certain that with his real intentions coming to light, it would backfire in the worst possible way.


	8. Chapter 8

The click-clack of Emma's heels on the hallway floor mimicked the beats of her heart as she made her way to the choir room. All attempts at shaking off the fuzzy, nervous feeling creeping over her skin like a rash failed considerably. Carl's flowers were like a dead weight in her hands, a contradictory gesture of his love for her. She was so tempted to dump them in the nearest trash can, but vetoed the idea. The roses were very pretty, their mixed aromas the only reason why they were going to remain as they were and not potpourri.

Emma contemplated what waited for her inside the choir room.

Would they be alone? Could she trust herself? Emma, dubious about her future with Carl, committed herself to their relationship, unwilling to start anew with everything up in the air.

The frog in Emma jumped from conclusion to conclusion, leaping ahead for no rational reason other than her own over-thinking.

She stopped and placed an open hand on her diaphragm, taking a deep breath to bring her back to the present. There was way too much speculation for what could be an innocent surprise. For all Emma knew, Will had moved on and probably seeing someone else anyway. Prettier. A blond, perhaps. With no OCD issues. Surely he would have mentioned it at lunch. Or, being a new relationship, was keeping it quiet for the time being.

 _Stop it right now Emma!_ Frogs were jumping every which way. She had to stop cultivating these thoughts before a headache formed. It wasn't doing her any good.

The students were milling around, hanging off the chairs and casually chatting to one another when Emma entered the room. With trepidation, she placed her flowers on the nearest desk, tucking her hair behind her ears.

Casting her eyes upon Will, she smiled radiantly, watching him as he sat hunched, flicking through sheet music in his lap. Will lifted his head and, sensing he had an audience of one, turned around to confirm the warmth caressing at his back.

"Emma," Will said, casting a flurry of emotions in his own mind. How curious that one word, one name, could make him weaken. He returned her smile kindly, pleased she kept their 'date'. Dropping his collection of sheet music into their folder, his stomach somersaulted as he hurried to the blushing Guidance Counsellor, taking her gently by the arm and leading her to the single seat in the centre of the room.

"Hey guys, look who's here!" Will broadcasted to the room, eager to get the performance underway.

"Happy Birthday Miss Pillsbury!" Clapping and cheering, the New Directions' greeting reverberated around the choir room, startling Emma into sheer delight. Normally fraught with danger, being the centre of attention usually triggered a dash from the room, however this time, Emma savoured the love surrounding her.

Will pointed to the electric guitarist, whose blond mop of hair flopped about shoulders. "Hit it!" The teenager nodded and proceeded to pluck the riff, alongside Finn, who belted the drums in four swift movements to 'Birthday' by The Beatles.

As the instrumental intro began, the Glee Club students clapped and kept time to the beat, stamping their feet and dancing on the spot.

The girls took the first line of the song, alternating with the boys, the catchy tune rushing through their veins, taking over, filling them with the power of music.

 _They say it's your birthday_

 _It's my birthday too, yeah_

 _They say it's your birthday_

 _We're gonna have a good time_

 _I'm glad it's your birthday_

 _Happy birthday to you_

Will watched from the side, seeing the New Directions so enthralled with their routine. The feeling of performing, singing and dancing was like a drug, something unable to be contained and infectious catching. He saw Santana laugh with Mike, Tina and Quinn dancing together and Kurt and Rachel partnering up. Will revelled at how a song could bring everyone together, when normally Glee sessions were spent bickering and arguing.

 _Ah_

 _Ah_

 _Ah_

 _Come on_

 _Come on_

Puck put his hand out to Miss Pillsbury. She put her hand in his, making a mental note to remember to sanitise afterwards and they started to dance. He spun her around, keeping an eye on Mr Schuester's whereabouts and boogied a bit closer. Emma was having a ball, and her childlike exultant smile stretched from cheek to cheek.

 _Yes we're going to a party party_

 _Yes we're going to a party party_

 _Yes we're going to a party party_

A circle formed around Puck and Miss Pillsbury, with the Glee kids shimmying and weaving around one another. Artie cheered from near Mr Schuester and as Puck twisted Emma around for the final time, he let go, spinning her directly into Will's direction. With a push, Artie shoved Will towards Emma, and the two of them collided into each other's arms.

 _I would like you to dance (Birthday)_

 _Take a cha-cha-cha-chance (Birthday)_

 _I would like you to dance (Birthday)_

 _Dance yeah_

Frozen. Voices stretched and slowed. Music faded and the room darkened, erasing the desks, the chairs, the students, until only the two of them remained, a single dimmed spotlight their only companion. Emma attempted to look away, to step back; to run. Yet Will's warm grasp and the longing flecked in his deep green eyes compelled her to stay, to be close to him, to become lost in him. And it frightened her to death.

Breathless, Emma gulped in some much-needed air, certain she had stopped breathing some time ago. Hands, not her own, adhered at the curve above her hips, so at home and natural, they became a part of her, an extension of her body. A delightful buzz curled up Emma's spine, pure happiness adorning her face as she draped her arms around Will's shoulders, his return expression one of elation, taking pleasure that Emma was in his arms once more.

Her eyes of varnished mahogany clamped shut. Could this really be happening? Peeking out from under her long eyelashes, Emma tread carefully, afraid this good feeling, a cosy as sitting in front of the fire in winter, would shatter into nothingness.

"Shall we dance?" Will asked politely, with a gentlemanly dip of his black top hat. Gone were his jeans, vest and business shirt. A white bow tie finished off his tail suit, so dapperly handsome, so old-world romantic.

"What? Where did – oh my gosh!" a stunned Emma blinked twice, awakening to another world.

A black ostrich feather floated through the air. Where did that come from? She plucked it out of the sky, noticing her forearms wrapped in black chiffon, black beads peppering the fabric as it cascaded to the floor.

Magically transformed, no longer wearing her signature blouse and skirt, the guidance counsellor twirled herself around, her body enveloped by a strapless black ball gown, flaring out at the hips, the hem edged with black ostrich feathers. Diamantes, thousands of them, sprayed down her torso in a sparkling V.

Delicate strings of violins filled the air, their bows graciously drawing across the bridge arc, the wondrous melody of the Blue Danube Waltz swelling to life.

"You haven't answered my question," Will noted charmingly, almost teasingly, for he already knew her response. Although written within the sparks igniting between them, he wanted to hear it from her lips, to know that she yearned to be close to him, to rekindle the intimacy. Heavens, Will had never wished for something so hard in his life. He asked again. "Will you dance with me?"

"I'd be delighted to dance with you." Emma's coquettish reply slipped off her tongue effortlessly, eagerly, too eagerly for her liking. Sandpaper lined her throat as Will reacquainted his body with hers, holding on for a reason, clinging to hope.

"Are you ready?" He asked, admiring the way she blushed so easily, her eyelashes fluttering more when she did. Looking absolutely stunning, it became extremely difficult for Will to look elsewhere; his eyes determined to absorb every nuance, every part of her.

"I'm not sure I know the dance… or how to waltz," Emma admitted, forcing her left hand to remain on Will's shoulder and not play with the back of his neck, under his curled hairline. They were close, dreadfully close, breathing the same air, mouths mere inches apart.

"This is your fantasy; of course you know how to waltz. Follow my lead and you'll never go astray," Will imparted his wisdom thoughtfully as he listened to the music, feeling the beat and bowing to his partner as she curtseyed. With outstretched arms, they joined hands and took their first steps.

Oh how they danced! The polished timber floorboards laid the foundation of a flourishing connection between the dancing duo as they swirled and glissaded around the darkened room.

Feet fell into place. Turns met with ease. Not one toe squashed. Emma caught her breath, keeping time by repeating 'one two three, one two three' in her head, then exhaled, immersing herself in the music and the man with the pink rose boutonnière pinned to his lapel.

She felt herself relax in his arms, spellbound by the violins, the clarinet, the cellos and horns of the poignant melody. With her skirt swaying about her ankles from each step, Emma felt just like Ginger Rogers from an old black and white movie, dancing with her eternal partner, Fred Astaire. Will escorted Emma around the dancefloor, lifting her into the air with a gentle elegance, and then returning her safely to the ground. He turned her out and in again, dancing beside her, twirling her out and back in again.

Grinning at his pretty dancing partner, Will reminisced the last time they danced. He had fond memories of that evening in his apartment, slow dancing to Neil Diamond's _Hello_ and falling in love in the candlelight after a home-cooked dinner. For the first time that night, he felt great love.

That same marvellous feeling returned with an aching desire.

Dancing held a certain truth, a trusting relationship. Fluid syncopation of two bodies interacting, joining as one, complementing, mirroring, working together to create magic in movement. Every second captured the essence of love and romance, a sight for the beholder. But they were dancing for themselves. All Will could see was Emma. And at that point, he wanted no one else.

Soon, the song would come to an end. Will wanted the dancing to continue forever, beyond the music. He rubbed his thumb across the curve of Emma's waist, sliding his hand to the arch of her back, pulling her close in their final moments. They crossed arms and joined hands, spinning, spinning, spinning to the climax of the concluding score. Will turned Emma out for the last time and she whirled back into his waiting arms. He dipped her, his chest heaving rapidly as he held her in position. Emma noticed the yearning in his eyes, the unmistakable passion causing a kaleidoscope of butterflies to flutter aimlessly under her skin.

She glanced at his supple lips, wondering if they were as soft to kiss as she remembered. Will tilted his head, closing the heated air between them. Emma shut her eyes, waiting for…

Nothing.

She opened her eyes, confused. Will was gone. No longer supported by the arms of her secret love, her pumps went from under her and she plunged to the ground, her world turning to black.


	9. Chapter 9

Shrouded in darkness, Will shivered from an eerie chill within his bones as he struggled to find the light he sought.

His heart, bursting with a severe case of unrequited love, plummeted into the depths of his stomach, unable to gratify the growing affection he had for one Emma Pillsbury.

So close, so unbelievably close. Will grasped at the air, reaching into empty space, finding nothing, seeing nothing. To press his lips against hers, to feel the burn across his soft skin, the reciprocation of hungry, needing kisses from his beautiful friend. Will wanted it; he wanted it all.

All was bitterly stolen from him in an instant.

He wiped his brow, a slight, dull pain pealing within as he did so, not recalling an instance while dancing injuring his forehead. He put it down to the beginning of headache, although with the pain more external than internal, it couldn't possibly be that.

Then, flashes of Emma's face emerged before him, smiling, loving. Apparitions, disappearing as soon as they materialised, leading Will to believe he was hallucinating. In silence he ached for Emma, his last memory of the two of them dancing on polished timber, holding her near enough to breathe in her rose-scented perfume, emotions running on high until a sudden vortex sucked him into the night. Emma became a fading image under a single spotlight, and regardless of how hard he tried, unknown forces prevented him from finding his way back to her.

How he wished he could see! His ears pricked up on muffled rumbling, familiar noises circling around him. Unexpectedly, pushes from either side of his body alerted him something was wrong. Tossed like a bunch of dirty socks in a washing machine with a possibility of certain death, Will braced himself for the end.

Shaken to life, a wide-eyed Will saw twelve faces staring back at him.

"Wakey wakey, Mr Schue," smiled Brittany, clicking her fingers in his face.

"Huh?" A dazed Will groaned as he sat up, rubbing his eyes.

"Well, at least one of them is awake," a small sigh of relief came from Finn, his concerns now lying with Miss Pillsbury, who hadn't moved.

"Emma? Emma?" Will called her name, frantic, his body uncooperative with his now fully-functioning brain. He shook her gently on the shoulder, trying to wake her. She was unresponsive, her ginger tresses splayed on the dusty floor around her peaceful face.

The New Directions crouched around their guidance counsellor. Rachel took hold of Emma's hand, patting it. "Miss Pillsbury, wake up."

"Are you gonna give her mouth to mouth Mr Schue?" Brittany asked.

Santana sniggered. "Maybe later."

"That's enough guys!" Will roused on the girls. "Everyone step back and give her some air," he then asked, grabbing a music book and fanning the air above Emma's face. The group backed away, with only Rachel staying behind. Will thought he saw Emma's eyelid jerk slightly. He held Emma's free hand, hoping it to be a good sign.

Kurt rifled through his book bag, pulling out a small flask and poured some water into the plastic lid. "Should we throw water in her face?" Puck snatched it from his hands, swallowing it in one gulp. "Thirsty, just what I needed. Thanks."

Tina shook her head, thinking of a more sensible solution. "Would you like me to get the nurse?"

As the group put in suggestions of what to do, their seemingly faraway voices jostled Emma's ears. Through her slitted eyes, bright lights, too bright, streamed past her eyelashes. A cool breeze surrounded her and she could feel someone holding her hands.

"Look, Miss Pillsbury's waking up," Quinn remarked, tossing strands of blonde hair behind her back and kneeled next to Rachel, joining them on the choir room floor.

"Emma." Will glimpsed at the reddening bump on her forehead, wincing at how painful it looked.

Emma stirred, caught between the realms of reality and imagination. "Mhm… aren't you gonna kiss me?" She dreamily smiled.

Giggles erupted amongst the New Directions. Rachel and Quinn looked at each other with open mouths and raised eyebrows.

Will, embarrassed, coughed and in a low voice said, "Uh, Emma, you're in the choir room."

Her doe eyes shot open in panic at the realisation she and Will were not alone. "Huh?" Rapid breathing caught her heart and she sat bolt upright, foggy but awake. "What happened? Why am I on the floor?" Emma asked as she rubbed her throbbing head. Rachel and Quinn endeavoured to calm her, resting supportive hands on her back and shoulders, afraid of a possible OCD flare-up.

Emma cast a dazed expression at Will, searching for an answer; however he couldn't offer her one. Will hoped she hadn't lost her memory. To explain how Emma got amnesia, as well as the bump to Carl would be a form of barbaric torture.

"All was going to plan – I mean, with the singing and dancing and nothing else," stated Kurt, not inconspicuously at all.

"Then… smacko!" exclaimed Mercedes, indicating with a clap of her hands. "Just like those Blaster Balls, you know, the ones that when you hit together they make a spark?"

"Blaster Balls! I totally forgot about those, they were great to play with. I wonder if they're still available," a side-tracked Mike wondered aloud.

"Anyways," Mercedes persisted with a sarcastic eye roll, "Smacko!" she repeated. "And that was it. Out cold. The two of you."

Vague images scuttled within Emma's mind. A minute ago they were dancing, weren't they? Emma's skin still burned at her waist, her back, her arms, from Will's unmistakable touch. They were dancing! But Will had his jeans and shirt back on. And… her blouse and skirt… the gorgeous black gown with ostrich feathers, gone. Where did her dress go? Where did the suit go? What on earth transpired between then and now? And the kiss… what about the kiss? A never-ending stream of questions marks dangled over her. Emma became lost in familiar surroundings.

"It was my fault," confessed Artie, looking glum, yet fist-bumping Sam in the process. According to Artie, thanks to his one push, the wheels were now in motion for Mr Schue to get Miss Pillsbury back. All that bicep training after school in the gym had paid off. "I shouldn't have pushed you so hard, Miss Pillsbury."

"Oh, that's alright Artie. I'll just call it my birthday bump," the guidance counsellor said with a light chuckle, trying not to make him feel bad, but remaining unconvinced of it being simply an accident. Everything appeared to be a trifle bizarre according to the redhead.

"You were both out of it for quite a while," Rachel mentioned, still comforting Miss Pillsbury.

"We were taking bets on who would wake up first," a haughty Santana said, flicking her high ponytail and jutting out her chin. "And by my calculations, you owe me 50 big ones, Puckerman."

"Blow it out your rear, Lopez," Puck sneered, making a fart noise with his hands.

Quinn shook her head, disgusted at Puck and his boyish behaviour. "Real mature, Noah. I'm so glad our baby doesn't have you as a role model."

"You're no role model teen mum either!" Puck fired back.

"Enough guys! Stop your bickering this instant! What if Miss Pillsbury or I was in real danger?" Will gave the group a hard stare, his eyes slit from the pain of his thumping forehead.

"Sorry, Mr Schue," Finn declared, dismayed about not doing anything sooner to help. He felt compelled to stick with the group rather than taking the lead, a troublesome game of tug-of-war peer pressure which never provided the right outcome. How he wished he could be a little bolder.

Will helped Emma to her feet, keeping hold of her until she steadied. "How do you feel?"

Emma thought long and hard, staring blankly into space. How did she feel? Her muddled brain, along with a pounding head topped off a disastrous birthday. Not to mention all those good sensations, something wonderful, cut dreadfully short. Defeated, she summed her feelings up to Will with one word. "Dissatisfied."

More laughter.

Indignant, Will shushed the teenagers before they went crazy interpreting any hidden meanings behind Emma's response. "Alright, that's it! Let's call it a day gang. We'll continue rehearsals tomorrow." In no mood to hear any further nonsense, Will pointed to the door, tired and generally annoyed at his students.

Will assisted Emma to a nearby chair and she began dusting herself off as the rowdy bunch shuffled out of the room, snickers and loud whispers echoing behind them. Emma could feel the dirt and germs from the sole of grubby students' shoes crawling all over her, marking her skin. Desperate for a shower, the unclean feeling made her shudder.

"It's been a rough day, hasn't it Emma?" Will asked, closing the choir room door gently, gazing out into the hallway.

"Oh, you could say that," Emma haughtily agreed, internally falling to pieces. "First… and then... You know what? I'm not going to bore you with my troubles."

"Bore me," declared Will, plopping himself on the chair next to Emma, eager to be her shoulder to lean on.

"I must admit, aside from… those things – there were a few highlights," an evasive Emma continued, not ready to dump her woes onto Will. "Being friends with you again. Carl singing to me over the phone and receiving his beautiful roses - my absolute favourite. And your Glee club putting on a performance, especially for me. Thank you." She patted his knee cautiously. Those old-time feelings were stirring, growing stronger, yet Emma needed to keep that barrier securely in place.

Conclusively, Will remarked, "So, despite the bad, everything else has turned out pretty terrific?"

The mention of Carl's roses struck sharply at Will's heart. They weren't Carl's roses, far from it. And the card may have said Carl, but the words were all Will, with the help of a verse from Thomas Ford's poem _There Is a Lady Sweet and Kind_. Carl would never be that romantic, Will gauged with venom, yet Emma chose the dentist over him. That hurt.

"Mostly terrific." Emma paused, cultivating a wistful look.

Although her phone call with Carl was not poetry in motion, they were still an item and Emma was not one to even consider having an affair. The flowers and card softened her perspective, or possibly the knock on her head awakened her to not to judge or develop negative feelings toward Carl any further. Perchance Carl's comments were a direct cause of undue stress from the convention, making him snap. Emma's trusting nature took over, surmising she possibly misconstrued Carl's intentions.

She gave in to herself, making herself believe she was wrong, her opinions were wrong.

But a burning inside her refused to be snuffed.

"Will, may I ask you something?" Staid and almost at a whisper, Emma dared to walk down a path which would lead to her undoing, but the entire thing bugged her so much, she had to know.

"Go for it," an assuring Will replied, intrigued by her question.

"Did you feel it too?"

Perplexed, Will scrunched his brow. "Did I feel what… too? An earthquake?" He braced himself on his seat to feel for more tremors.

"No, not an earthquake," Emma ascertained politely, but the earth did shake a little, she thought to herself. "Did you feel something amazing, something magical happen… between us?" Emma lifted her eyes from the view of her lap where her fingers were playing nervously to Will's ruminating glance.

"Please tell me I'm not going crazy," she insisted, begging for an answer rather than a silent stare.

He planted the palms of his hand on her shoulders, understanding, reassuring. "You're not going crazy."

"Then… you did feel something." Her hopes kindled, only to be doused instantly from the knowledge of her current relationship.

"Yes, I did. Oh Emma," Will slid his hands down her arms, until her delicate fingers were enclosed within his palms. "I can't explain what or how it happened, but I know, deep down in my heart, something, someone, is telling us that we are meant for each other."

"How do you know this? How can you be sure? Why? Honestly, I'm a little bit spooked by this. How is it that we shared the same dream? It doesn't make sense at all." Logic defied Emma, making her head spin, or was the bump on her head screwing with her thinking?

"And yet, the lack of sense makes complete sense," Will expounded his compelling thoughts warmly. "Sometimes what we imagine in our own mind doesn't need to make sense in order for it to be true or have a real-life meaning. We're connected Emma, don't you see? Our subconscious, our collective visions told us that," he explained, wanting her to consider the unexplained, to consider and acknowledge that her feelings for him were imbedded within her mind and soul. What else could he do to make her believe?

"It's impossible, Will," Emma stated, breathlessly, as Will leaned to her, closing in on the heated space between them.

"Anything is possible, Emma, even us," the curly-haired teacher's body pulsed as his lips collected hers in a swooping, tender kiss. With the agonising wait over at last, Will soaked in her softness, her taste, one passionate second at a time. Through closed eyes he caught glimpse of the pleasure unfolding amid their embrace, sweet and loving, slow and sincere. He could kiss Emma all day, lips pressed against one another, hands caressing her body, if that's what it would take to remind her how much he cared for her, desired her, needed her in his life.

His flesh tingled when she kissed him back.

Blindsided, Emma ached for his touch, his affection, a longing whispering within her like morning mist through a forest. Dovetailed lips lingered together, wanting more, catching and discovering, gliding over the other, smooth and refreshing. She found herself clutching his vest, holding on to him, fireworks exploding all over the choir room and relishing in the utter pleasure of a single kiss.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

The unrelenting chant in her head thunderously attacked her, bringing Emma to the point of tears. She negated to let go, resisting for the longest time, but the ferociousness of her conscience forced her to break away.

"Will, no," she protested, lightly pushing him away. Recoiling in her seat, she inhaled and squeezed her eyes shut, frayed from both ends. Her heart and her head competing for victory ripped Emma to her core. She turned away from his bemused glance and bit hard down on her lip.

No was not the answer, Will decided. He would fight for her. He promised.

Kneeling on the floor in front of her, gripping her hands, Will put in his simple request. "Please, leave Carl for me." Direct and brutally honest, Will stripped himself bare, leaving himself open to probable defeat. Nevertheless, he had to appeal to her, to make her recognise that Carl did not have the ability to love someone as wonderful and precious as her.

"Carl and I are together, Will," Emma stated, her face flushed in shades of pink. Her bottom lip stung from nipping at the reddened skin. Stuffy and suffocating, the choir room seemed to close in on her, devouring her senses, sucking whatever life remained into a vacuous space of nothingness.

How could she betray Carl like she did? How could she kiss another man? The lump on her head pulsed and she feared of throwing up straight into Will's lap. She had to get out of there, to go home and work out what to do next. And shower. Twice.

Wounded eyes inched toward Emma as Will leaned over her, his hands seizing the back of her chair. She saw the desperation, the gloss of tears, the yearning imprinted across his face. "You love me, like I love you. I know you do. Say it."

Emma shook her head in sadness, shoving him away firmly this time and rising from her seat. "I love Carl. I don't love you." She would not yield to him, not again. She couldn't as long as she and Carl were dating.

Will overbalanced onto the cold floor and then jumped to his feet. "That's your head talking, not your heart! I know what's in there, Emma Pillsbury," he pointed to her chest, where her heart beat frantically within, "and I know Carl doesn't take up an ounce of the amount of love you have inside your heart compared to me." Fierceness grew from Will's belly and spilled out of his mouth to the point where Emma appeared almost terrified from his insistence.

He took a few steps back and tugged at his tie, glowering at the word 'Celebration' on the white board. A fine celebration this was. He raked his fingers through his hair and avoided Emma's gaze. He had to compose himself and looked heavenward, drawing in a long breath to calm down.

"What do you have against Carl? All your talk today… apologising for your behaviour, wanting to be friends again… were you just saying that to get close to me? To kiss me? To make me believe that you are the one I should be with?" Crossing her arms, her brown eyes steely and void of their usual warmth, the indignant Emma stared at her so-called friend, wanting an answer.

Throwing his hands up in exasperation, he clenched his fists behind his aching head, "He… Carl…" Will spluttered and choked on his words, tempted to reveal all and tell Emma the truth.

A low growl from his throat and a change of mind prompted him to halt from saying anything more on the subject. "You know what? Forget it. Just… forget it." With a hopeless sigh and firm squeeze of the bridge of his nose, Will walked to his desk and slung his book bag over his shoulder. He spurned the urge to speak, aware that if he did, he and Emma would not be on speaking terms anymore. She wouldn't believe a bad word Will said about Carl now anyway.

Emma sat back down, wounded, irritated and more in love with Will Schuester than ever.

His offer, alluring as it seemed, would be entirely inappropriate. She was in a faithful relationship, and Emma was going to make damn sure it stayed that way, whatever she felt in her head… or her heart.

"Will, I'm sorry. I... can't we work this out?" She couldn't lose her friend for a second time. Will had to understand; from her viewpoint the stakes were high.

Ignoring her plea, Will thrust open his desk drawer, almost sending the wooden chamber flying from its rollers. The blue box with the ivory satin ribbon rested patiently inside, awaiting a certain person to open it. Tearing the card away from under the ribbon and tossing it back into the drawer, Will's heart sank into muddied waters of desolation.

He walked back to Emma, dropping the gift into her hands, breaching his vow of silence. "Here. A present Carl gave me to give to you since he couldn't be here today. Because he loves you _so_ , _so_ much." Accents of malice laced his broken silence inadvertently, the inability to keep his emotions in check blatantly obvious. Mean and childish, everything he vowed he wouldn't be, he was. And to the woman he loved most in the world.

Her eyes swam with tears. "There's no need to be sarcastic."

He plastered on a wan smile and shoving his hands in his jean pockets, walked towards the door. Shame corroded his insides. He couldn't spend another minute in the same room with Emma. How he wanted to comfort her and wipe away her tears, but fear of being close to her again, holding her in his arms thwarted him from doing so.

"Where are you going?"

Will paused in his tracks, not turning around, not wanting to look into her delicate cinnamon flecked eyes. "I – I have a date."

Numbness infused Emma's body. "You have a date tonight?"

He spun around, defying his decision. "Since when do you care whether I have a date or not?" Will lifted his shoulder in a half shrug, her eyes scalding him all over with anguish.

"I don't, Will. But it sounds like your date is off to a great start when you kiss another woman the same day," said a pragmatic Emma, gathering her handbag and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. She stood and tugged on her skirt so it sat properly at her waist.

"It's really none of your business," Will replied tautly, instantly regretting the way he spoke to her. "Look I have to go," he allayed, shielding his eyes with his sunglasses.

A weight settled in her heart. "That makes two of us. Thanks for ruining my birthday Will."

He jutted his chin at her comment and nodded sharply at the gift held tightly against her chest. "Open your present."

Emma watched him walk out of the choir room, letting out a harsh breath as she trembled from the mounting dissention between them. Will didn't ruin her birthday at all, but in the heat of the moment she had no one else to direct her anger to in person except him.

And he had a date as well? The new information caught her unware, putting her into a lather that her suspicions were correct. A pretty blond with no OCD issues had wound Will around her perfectly manicured finger. Well, Emma had no idea who she was, but it had to be someone like that.

Rolling the satin ribbon between her thumb and forefinger, her thoughts rattled by this mystery woman, she decided to turn her attention to the present from Carl. It truly was thoughtful of him to drop her present off to Will, since he was out of town. She pulled one end of the ribbon, the bow unravelling over the crisp paper. She rolled the ribbon into a ball and popped it into her handbag.

Wrapping paper had to be undone in a particular way according to Emma. Even as a child she did not tear it off hastily, instead separating the sticky tape from the paper one piece at a time. It took longer than usual but the reward was so much sweeter.

Carefully, Emma unstuck each side until the box enclosed within slid out effortlessly. She removed the lid and pulled aside the white tissue paper hiding her present. A smile danced on her lips when she saw her precious gift.

An early edition of The Secret Garden! Her entire face lit up when she saw the cover, well-worn but still as vibrant as when first published in its entirety in 1911. Mary's red coat on the cover contrasted vividly against the golden and pine green border, with little Robin Redbreast watching over her as she opened the vine-covered door to a secret world tucked away from view.

Emma cautiously turned the front cover, and to her astonishment, underneath the vase on the book's title page, a faded but brilliant autograph of Frances Hodgson Burnett, the author. She circled the autograph with her finger, jittery with excitement, amazed and full of wonder of how this book came to be in her possession.

How did Carl know? How did he know that The Secret Garden was her favourite, most absolute beloved book of all time? She had to call him right away to thank him for a gift she would cherish forever. Surely it would have cost a fortune and to go to the lengths to find it… Carl really did love her to think of something so meaningful such as the book. Emma held back tears as she fished through her handbag for her cell to call her boyfriend.

"Emma… hello," Carl answered his phone after a few rings. He had finished up his final lecture for the day and was about to leave his hotel room to meet up with Amanda and her friends for a few drinks at a nearby bar.

"Carl! My handsome guy," Emma burbled melodiously. "How are you, sweetheart?"

"Glad that today's over. I've – I've been meaning to call you, honey," Carl mumbled, putting a hand on his hip and bowing his head, sullen from how their last phone call ended.

"Oh Carl, how can I ever thank you for your gift? It's so wonderful, I just opened it now and had to call," Emma gushed, so happy she twirled in her place.

"You received it? Good… good…" Carl slowed on his response, unsure what the gift was and not wanting to sound like a complete heel and blow the fact he overlooked her birthday. Schuester should have given him the heads up on what he bought her, the conniving song-and-dance man.

"Yes!" She screeched cheerfully. "How did you know that The Secret Garden was my favourite book? Oh my gosh! I can't begin to tell you how much I love it."

"Yes, The Secret Garden!" Carl perked up, furtively thanking Emma's excitement for giving him the answer. "Well, you've been dropping a few hints and I'm sure you've mentioned it a few times so I thought what a nice surprise it would be to get my beautiful baby her favourite book," Carl said with a light chuckle as he flicked through the notes in his wallet. He would have to make a trip to the ATM; a handful of singles wouldn't last five minutes.

"Have I? I don't remember but maybe I have mentioned it in passing," Emma mused, resting her arm across her stomach and pacing around the choir room. "And the dozen roses, the poem that came with them… you've made today so wonderful. I… still wish you were here with me though."

"I aim to please my girl. I picked the roses out especially for you. And I'm sorry about before. All those things I said, I didn't mean them," Carl apologised, stroking the scratchy stubble under his chin. "I wish I were with you too."

"That's alright," a forgiving Emma acknowledged. "You're under a lot of pressure and sometimes I can be a little bit sensitive and take things the wrong way." Her change of heart, her decision to willingly wear the blame for Carl's remarks toward her appeased her inner self.

"Still, it was wrong of me to lash out the way I did – I love you, Emma. Which reminds me, I have some fantastic news to share with you, but I want to wait to tell you in person."

A formal offer from the Dean of the University landed in Carl's hands after his lecture, making it almost impossible to say no. This could be the lucky break Carl needed to end their relationship, to part ways with Emma on good terms, to give him the freedom he desired.

Emma wouldn't dare escape her comfort zone; he knew her too well. Big cities terrified her.

"Really?" Emma exclaimed. "Oh Carl, I don't know if I can wait that long. Tell me now!"

"No baby, not over the phone, I want to see the expression on your face when I tell you."

"Well, alright, I guess I can wait until tomorrow. Hey, it's only one more day. Sounds like big news." She paused. "So what are you up to now?"

"Oh, I met up with a few old friends so we're going to catch up tonight. I have another big day tomorrow so I won't be out too late. Actually I'm a little late meeting them now, so I better be on my way," he explained, itching to terminate the call.

"Oh," said a downcast Emma, hoping to have a longer chat to her dentist boyfriend. "Of course, of course. Well I can't wait until you come home. Thank you for the beautiful flowers and the book. It means the world to me. I – I miss you."

"I miss you too. Talk later."

"Love you, 'bye."

Carl glanced one last time into the mirror with the ornate brown frame attached to the wall of his room and ran his fingers through his recently moussed hair. With his cell in one hand, he typed off a quick text to Will to thank him for his help and asked how much he owed.

 _Thanks so much bro for bailing me out of a tight spot. Emma loved her gifts. Looks like I'm in the good books again. Lucky me. So, what do I owe you?_

He waited for a response, but when no reply came, slipped his phone into the back pocket of his dark wash denim jeans and left for The Century Bar on South Jefferson. Fun was just around the corner.

-CMW-

Will tossed his keys onto the kitchen bench and dropped his book bag at his feet. Reaching into the fridge for a cold bottle of Bud, he twisted the lid, flicking it into the sink, the familiar 'tssst' enticing his thirst. Taking a refreshing sip of the pale lager, he grabbed another two bottles and headed over to the lounge room, turning the TV on to watch some mind-numbing reality show. Kicking his shoes off, Will planted his two sock-covered feet on the coffee table and settled in for the evening. From the faint odour rising from his socks, Will figured it would be best to do a load of laundry – soon.

Guzzling more of the beer and tilting his head back into the comfy couch cushions, Will figured the little white lie he told Emma about having a date wouldn't get him into too much trouble.

Truthfully, there was no date, not tonight.

Emotionally unavailable by choice, he couldn't bring himself to date other women who weren't Emma. He only said he had a date to get a rise out of her, to catch a glimpse of the green flecks of jealousy peppered in her eyes and over her face. The proof presented itself, in the clench of her jaw, the way her eyes widened, her nose crinkling when she flared her nostrils. Subtle, but evident nonetheless.

Did it make him happier to see her this way? No.

His face went blank as he aimlessly clicked through the television channels. A bundle of reports stashed in his bag begged to be marked. He couldn't be bothered to pull out a red marker and draw more Fs on the first page, his attention instead drawn to the next mouthful of beer and one Emma Pillsbury.

And his forehead. Making a loud groan as he regrettably rose from his place on the couch, he tossed the remote and trudged back over to the kitchen, pulling out a packet of frozen vegetables from the freezer and held it against the bump. They would go well with the steak he bought yesterday for dinner tonight.

"That's better," Will happily sighed, letting the cold do its work and rummaged through the medicine cabinet for paracetamol. As he placed the white tablets on his tongue, his phone beeped, alerting Will to a message. Sculling the remainder of the beer and downing the tablets, he reached into his bag, and saw the text from Carl.

Will rolled his eyes. Lucky you, alright.

All appetite lost, Will returned the vegetables to the freezer, slamming the door.

Collapsing back on the couch, he stared at the message for some time before entering a reply.

 _It's on me. Glad I could help out, bro._

Will cracked open another bottle, self-medicating his depression over Emma until threads of moonlight splintered the black velvet sky.

-CMW-

Curled up in bed in her favourite baby blue nightgown after two warm, sanitising showers, Emma found great difficulty in putting The Secret Garden down and retiring for the night. With a delicate turn of each page, Emma engrossed herself in Misselthwaite Manor, Miss Mary and regeneration of life within the walled garden.

And Will.

Emma's brows snapped together once realising she reread the same page four times, her concentration now adrift after being so enchanted by the story.

Dammit Janet! Why did Will have to spoil the fun?

She placed a bookmark between the fine, yellowed pages and tucked the book away into the box between the tissue paper.

Twinges of jealousy bit at her like bedbugs at a hostel. So what if Will had a date? Who cares?

"You care, Emma," she said to herself, irritated because he didn't say anything earlier, because he blurted it out of the blue as a result of her rejection, because…

Because…

Because you love him, you nincompoop.

"I don't love Will." Emma turned off the Tiffany light on her nightstand and crossed her arms like a 5-year-old throwing a tantrum. However, their kiss would take some time to erase from her lips.

Anyways, Will was the jealous one. He couldn't get over the fact that Emma had moved on to a serious relationship with a trustworthy, hardworking, generous man such as Carl. Sure, they had a tipple today and Emma added another 23 flaws to Carl's list. But if all she saw were flaws… how could she appreciate the good? And there was good in Carl.

Emma neglected to be grateful, caught in her own despair, playing the victim.

Tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow would bring a new day, a new outlook and a new-found appreciation for the man she loved, starting with a call to Carl in the morning.

She couldn't think of a better way to begin the day.


End file.
